


oh, so pretty

by lgbtdisney



Series: stafou post-movie 'verse [2]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: #StopSexualisingCrossdressing2k17, Belle gives very good advice, Happy Ending, M/M, PSA: men who like to wear makeup and dresses are still men!, So take that as you will, crossdressing - but not kinky, emotions are gone into a lot, how could i let it end otherwise?, i only tagged characters that have speaking parts & not background characters, this could be considered something of a character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 11:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10535925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lgbtdisney/pseuds/lgbtdisney
Summary: Some days when he knew there would be no visitors to his room, he would sit in front of his vanity and indulge himself by giving himself a full face of makeup -- the entire works -- and smile at his reflection.His preference was like a spectrum; days like the one before, where only the feel of a brush painting his lips or dusting across his cheeks lightly were enough, were common, but sometimes there were days where he wanted to have more, do more with himself.There were days where he was fine with nothing at all, yes, where he liked his strong jaw and facial hair (among many of the things that his brother, as well as his drinking mates, proclaimed to be ‘utterly and unashamedly manly’) on their own, but there were days where he liked the look of both them and his products combined.LeFou begins to discover something about his lover, and not by accident. Meanwhile, Stanley is unsure of where he stands.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Stanley Parable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10397751) by [Doodled93](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodled93/pseuds/Doodled93). 



> i'd been itching to write a new stafou fic because i'm just in love with the pairing, and when i read [A Stanley Parable](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10397751) by Doodled93, i got immensely inspired; then this 6k thing happened! make sure to check out their work as well!

*****¤*.¸¸.·´¨»*«´`»*«´¨`·.¸¸.*¤*

 

LeFou waited, almost nervously, in the tavern for Stanley. They were going to nurse a few steins of beer between the two of them and then go on a walk just outside the village in the fields, away from prying eyes; despite the villagers growing slightly kinder after the ordeal with Adam, the castle and the proof that love could reach a little further than the bounds already placed on it that arose a few months back, they were still not the most tolerant of people and while, sometimes, it wasn’t malicious, it was still _there_ ; therefore LeFou and Stanley made the decision to keep many of their affairs away from who they knew would show disdain and take the matter _further_ than hushed talks when they wanted to.

 

He had his own beer between his hands, sat at the long table in the tavern with a few spaces to either side of him. Despite not knowing what the time was, LeFou had the gnawing feeling that Stanley was late; call it his insecurity, because he didn’t know, logically, how that feeling _worked_ if he couldn’t see the time, but the feeling still remained.

 

Months back he would have been perched on the arm of the seat Gaston reserved for himself and put his best efforts into cheering the man up by inflating his ego, but nothing was like that anymore; things -- _many_ things -- had changed, including LeFou’s sense of worth.

 

Of course, Gaston’s existence was no more, but in the past few months since that happened, LeFou has learned to live for himself and not just for the pleasure of his friends and their happiness. He’d always been a people pleaser, yes -- but now it was more… how do you say… healthy.

 

This was partly thanks to Belle, Adam’s servants and Adam himself; while the prince was _much_ less eager on immediately accepting LeFou, given that LeFou _was_ Gaston’s right-hand man up until the midst of the storm on the castle, LeFou found himself welcome at the castle when appropriate; he had a feeling Belle and Mrs. Potts, who had both almost become something akin to confidants for LeFou, may have been something to do with the prince’s persuasion.

 

It was also to do with Stanley, who LeFou had gotten _very_ close with ever since the night of the ball at Adam’s castle. They’d kissed that night, out on the balcony, hardly unable to get enough of one another; at the end of that night, LeFou had even accompanied Stanley to his house’s front door, where they parted ways with a quick kiss and promises that they _would_ meet again and they _would_ continue whatever was blooming between them.

 

And they had.

 

Stanley brought out more in LeFou than what was surface-level on the night of the ball, slowly getting LeFou to be more _him_ than what other people wanted to see or get. Whether that was intentional or not of him, LeFou still relished in it; he would never go back to who he was months ago regardless.

 

LeFou had nearly finished his beer when he caught sight of Stanley walking through the tavern door; his head had been shooting up every time he heard the creaky wood move, but none had been as fruitful as now.

 

The two’s eyes met and they shared greeting smiles, but for some reason, Stanley looked slightly nervous; the corners of his mouth seemed less upturned and his body looked slightly more rigid that it usually was. Nonetheless, he made his way over.

 

LeFou sat his stein on the wooden table as Stanley lowered himself to the left of LeFou.

 

“Bonjour,” Stanley murmured, reaching a hand to lightly squeeze LeFou’s forearm in a somewhat intimate but private gesture; he, however, _sounded_ unnerved too.

 

LeFou couldn’t help but bring it up. He replied his greetings to his lover, but then said, “What’s wrong?”

 

“Oh, it’s -- it’s quite _nothing_ , really,” Stanley answered, but LeFou was wholly unconvinced. “I’m sorry I was late,” Stanley deflected. “I got… caught up with something important.”

 

First LeFou noticed that Stanley pursed his lips multiple times while he talked and then he noticed that the man’s lips were slightly peachier than usual. It was almost like… 

 

“Oh?” LeFou said before his thoughts could continue, sounding unconvinced but continued with his façade nonetheless. “What was it?”

 

“Family matters.” Stanley rushed, the words tumbling out of his mouth like he’d rehearsed them too many times and if he forgot about them, he’d forget them. “I wasn't at home with Pierre today; I had to travel to the outskirts of the village to help my mother at my family's home. She’s fallen ill, so I had to do her chores on her own behalf.”

 

“Ah.” LeFou listened, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at Stanley.

 

“Mon père wasn’t happy, obviously.” Stanley continued. “He still thinks household chores are unbecoming of a man. He wanted me to find one of my sisters, but they were all busy. Not that I minded. I enjoy taking care of ma mère, especially after all that she’s done for me.”

 

LeFou nodded. While he _was_ listening to Stanley, he couldn’t take his eyes from the peculiar colour painting his lover’s lips peachy-pink.

 

 _Perhaps_ , LeFou thought, _perhaps it was lipstick?_ It could be. It wasn’t uncommon for men to wear makeup (something he’d come to know at the prince’s ball; it just wasn't as common in the _village_ ), LeFou knew that, but he just never recalled Stanley ever wearing such a thing before -- not that he had qualms. When he was as untraditional as the next man and had been educated on a few things in the recent months (most of those times included Belle and her wisdom garnered from her books, both fiction and nonfiction), the thought of his partner wearing such a thing did not deter or disgust him.

 

Instead of saying something outright at that moment in time (maybe LeFou would leave that for their more private walk where they could speak more freely than they could in the tavern… however, he wasn’t sure if he even _should_ mention it), LeFou chose a more comfortable and subtle approach.

 

“Well, I think you look _incroyable_ despite your lateness,” he said, giving Stanley a tender smile. “You freshen up well,” he added playfully.

 

Stanley seemed to perk up immediately, sitting up a little more straight and smiling immediately. As LeFou watched the man flag down a barmaid to order some beer for himself, he knew that seeing Stanley like this was much, _much_ more favorable than if he chose to shun the beautiful man for any product he decided to put on his face.

 

*¤*.¸¸.·´¨»*«´`»*«´¨`·.¸¸.*¤*

 

They were on their walk in the fields just outside of the village and hadn’t come across anyone in some time; ten minutes ago, tentatively, Stanley took LeFou’s hand in his own as they walked through flowers, grass and amidst some trees.

 

“I’ve become better at reading,” LeFou told Stanley.

 

Stanley made an intrigued noise. “That’s good,” he smiled, looking at the shorter man. Stanley, himself, already could read, having been taught the basics as a young boy and learning further by secretly picking up books from the town library.

 

“Belle _has_ been very patient with me.” LeFou said. “I -- I have a lot of trouble with _fluency_ , she says, but other than that, I’m doing well -- all things considered.”

 

“Hey, I’m happy for you.” Stanley replied, squeezing LeFou’s hand. “And also, you don’t have to feel embarrassed. We didn’t think too much of it before, but reading… it’s important and valuable, so to even _make_ that effort is impressive.”

 

LeFou ducked his head a little at the compliment and smiled. “Merci.”

 

“Pas de problème,” Stanley replied, voice full of contentedness.

 

They continued in silence, hands remaining locked and feet brushing through the new flowers that were blooming.

 

The rest of their day out was full of chatter and affection, jokes and serious discussions and much in between the two. They spent, actually, a few hours -- to LeFou’s estimate -- in the field and as they got back to the entrance to their village and dropped their hands back to their sides, Stanley asked with a bordering-on-coy smile if LeFou’d like to come into his house for a while; Stanley’s brother, with whom he lived, was coming home the next afternoon, so LeFou could very much… ‘ _spend the night_ ’ if he wanted.

 

A few minutes chatting inside of Stanley’s house quickly turned into kisses in the middle of the cramped dining room which _then_ quickly turned into rushing to Stanley’s room, hand-in-hand and grinning like teenage lovers rather than the grown men they were.

 

Pieces of clothing were removed in the room and as he lowered himself onto Stanley’s bed, waiting for Stanley to shrug off his button-up, LeFou caught sight of an open case on the small, worn vanity in a corner of his lover’s room close by; it was a small, square thing, the contents of it… peachy-pink wax(?).

 

That’s when it clicked into place for LeFou (surprising, really, since he’s had a strange taste on his lips ever since the first time he and Stanley kissed that day -- perhaps that’s how he was stuck with this mockery of a nickname), certainly and almost confirmed if the confirmation had came from Stanley’s mouth himself; Stanley wore -- or was beginning to wear -- makeup.

 

But LeFou, in that moment, couldn’t muster the strength to care; not when Stanley was crawling on top of his body, lying him down properly onto his bed with a coquettish grin that had LeFou’s stomach leaping and jumping.

 

Also, while Stanley was becoming more carefree in their alone time together, losing his inhibitions and the standards expected of him by others, LeFou had never seen the man like this; he was so… _happy_ and in his element. LeFou suspected it had something to do with his earlier compliment on his appearance, but what he knew for certain is that he never would take this feeling away from someone who he cared for so deeply -- no matter whether he could adjust to it or not.

 

No, what LeFou did instead was murmur (as Stanley kissed his neck): “You -- you’re the most stunning man I’ve ev--ever laid my eyes on.”

 

He felt Stanley’s lips turn into a smile against his skin and LeFou found himself smiling too.

 

*¤*.¸¸.·´¨»*«´`»*«´¨`·.¸¸.*¤*

 

Stanley woke up in the middle of the night; he could tell so by the moonlight shining through a small sliver of area that his curtains did not cover.

 

His bed was barely _just_ big enough to fit him and LeFou on, but, nonetheless, Stanley sat on the edge of the bed for a while, back bent a little as he spared himself time to think.

 

He can still remember how hard his heart had beaten as soon as he stepped out of his home, wearing the soft lipstick on his mouth. He was worried, as he walked through the streets, that somebody would notice and take something of a swing at him for not being as manly as many people think he should be; he already got enough trouble for that, with off-handed comments here and there about his salmon-coloured clothes…

 

Stanley still remembered how his heart went even _faster_ than beforehand when he locked eyes with LeFou after entering the tavern; he was afraid his lover would _immediately_ notice his minimal wearing of makeup and cast him away out of judgement. Maybe Stanley was just very insecure… but the feeling still gnawed heartily at him.

 

When LeFou complimented his appearance not once but _twice_ on their rendezvous, Stanley felt like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. He was clinging onto the hope that LeFou noticed his change in appearance and was, too, including that in the compliments that he gave Stanley; the very thought lifted his spirits.

 

Stanley looked over his bare shoulder to look at his partner who, still, laid peaceful and serene under the covers of Stanley’s bed. He wanted to reach his hand out to stroke LeFou’s arm which was above Stanley’s bedcovers but he also wanted not to wake LeFou up, so, instead, Stanley elected to stand up from his bed.

 

Shivering, unclothed and body perceptible to the draft that drifted through his room, Stanley shuffled over to his vanity where he had left his open case of his newly-acquired lipstick; he ran out of his favourite colour recently and had to buy a new case -- under the premise of a gift for a lady friend, of course.

 

Looking back over to LeFou, Stanley wondered if the man noticed the case lying open on his vanity; he forgot to close and store the thing, having rushed out of his home so he wouldn’t be any more late to meet LeFou than he already was. He’d fabricated a lie of helping his mother so he wouldn’t have to confirm anything.

 

Stanley looked back down at his peach-pink lipstick. Fear rose a little in his chest in _confirming_ that he wore makeup -- that he _liked_ doing it. Subtlety was one thing, leaving a few things here and there as _implications_ , but admitting it? That was an entirely different, _scary_ case.

 

Snapping the case shut, Stanley pulled out one of the drawers of his vanity to store it away; in this desk laid his white face powder, blush, and other makeup miscellany that he kept hidden away. Some days when he knew there would be no visitors to his room, he would sit in front of his vanity and indulge himself by giving himself a full face of makeup -- the entire works -- and smile at his reflection.

 

His preference was like a spectrum; days like the one before, where only the feel of a brush painting his lips or dusting across his cheeks lightly were enough, were common, but sometimes there were days where he wanted to have more, _do_ more with himself.

 

There were days where he was fine with nothing at all, yes, where he liked his strong jaw and facial hair (among many of the things that his brother, as well as his drinking mates, proclaimed to be ‘ _utterly and unashamedly manly_ ’) on their own, but there were days where he liked the look of both them and his products combined.

 

At the storm on the castle months back where the operatic wardrobe dressed Dick, Tom and he in gracious gowns and faces of makeup, Stanley had felt _truly_ in his own body and element. When the wardrobe trilled ‘ _beautiful_ ’ to Stanley’s grinning face as Tom and Dick ran off screaming, he felt like he could _truly_ believe it; that time was the first time that he had ever been _fully_ indulged in one of the images of himself that sometimes graced his mind in public. While he had not yet worked up the courage to replicate that look outside of his own home again (he actually had the dress and the outfit's other components stashed in his own small wardrobe), on the days where he wanted to, he always thought back to that night.

 

Sighing, Stanley placed the case into the open draw along with the accompanying brush and quietly pushed it shut. He closed his eyes in contemplation.

 

LeFou must have noticed -- his lipstick, that is -- but… but he still complimented Stanley. That meant something. It must have, right?

 

Caught on hopeless wishing, Stanley opened his eyes and stepped across his room, crawling back into his bed, chest against LeFou’s back as he pulled the sheets the best he could over the both of them. He closed his eyes again, this time for the purpose for falling asleep, and with the excuse of the weight in his heart, pressed a kiss to the back of LeFou’s head. He hoped this man would stick it through with him, warts and all.

 

Maybe when Stanley woke up, LeFou would already be out the door, never to see Stanley again -- or worse, never to talk to Stanley again.

 

But maybe -- just maybe -- he wouldn’t. Maybe LeFou would not (did not, if he knew at the exact time) care. Maybe he would accept Stanley with open arms, with the best he could give.

 

And maybe, in time, Stanley would find it inside of him to tell LeFou about the ins and outs of how he saw himself.

 

For that exact moment, though, Stanley fell asleep with both the image of LeFou messily trying to apply his makeup _for_ him and a smile on his face.

 

*¤*.¸¸.·´¨»*«´`»*«´¨`·.¸¸.*¤*

 

When Stanley woke up, LeFou was exactly as he was before; asleep, content, and curling comfortably into the embrace of his partner.

 

*¤*.¸¸.·´¨»*«´`»*«´¨`·.¸¸.*¤*

 

LeFou made his way to the castle that day for his scheduled reading lesson with Belle. When the door opened, a smiling Lumière greeted him.

 

“ _A-ha!_ Monsieur LeFou!” Lumière moved to the side, letting LeFou in. “Bonjour, my friend! I was expecting you soon.”

 

Taking off his hat as he entered, LeFou shrugged off his coat as well and placed both onto the coat and hat rack just short of the entrance.

 

“Chapeau has contracted a light illness,” Lumière explained the man’s absence, “so I’ve taken up his role in the meantime.”

 

“Oh?” LeFou said, turning around after having hung his items up.

 

“Oui, oui,” Lumière nodded solemnly, closing the door. “Though I suspect his recovery will be speedy, so there is no need to worry!” He hopped to LeFou’s side. “Mademoiselle Belle is just in the lounge waiting. I will take you to her. It’s just across here.”

 

“Thank you,” LeFou said, and the two shared a smile.

 

“Say, monsieur,” Lumière began, “you’re looking rather chipper today, and I know it’s not because of the weather; we’re just breaching winter, and winds are… _froid_ , to say the least.” He gave LeFou a semi-wry smile. “How are you and your petit ami doing? You are doing… well, yes?” An elbow nudged LeFou’s side playfully. “Is that the reason behind the spring in your step?”

 

LeFou looked down and then back up, a sheepish smile on his face as they reached the lounge. “I hadn’t realised I was that obvious.”

 

Lumière chuckled. “ _Monsieur_ , tu es _très_ flagrant! You didn’t hear it from me, but you are the brightest-eyed and bushiest-tailed person I have seen today. Say -- did you and your petit ami get some,” Lumière wiggled his eyebrows, “ _alone time_ on this cold morning?”

 

LeFou felt a blush rise on his cheeks and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, a voice came from the front of the lounge by the fire.

 

“ _Lumière_ ,” Belle stood up from one of the large chairs, setting a chunky book aside. LeFou felt a little intimidated by the amount of pages. She had a fond smile on her face. “What kind of insinuation is that?”

 

“Ah, Mademoiselle Belle!” Lumière bowed, his cheeky smile still on his face. “I was just making Monsieur LeFou feel at his best place in our home!”

 

“Oh, is _that_ what we’re calling what that was now?” Belle asked with a playfully incredulous tone, walking over to the two. She nodded at LeFou in greeting. “You seem cold. We should take a seat over by the fire now; you’re actually right on time.”

 

“Speaking of time,” Lumière piped up, “I believe Cogsworth is somewhere in this castle for me to annoy. I’ll take my leave now. You two have fun.”

 

Before either could make a comment in his presence, Lumière had disappeared, undoubtedly to live up to his promise.

 

Belle shook her head and laughed. Both her and LeFou made their way over to the tall chairs designated by the fireplace; they were nudged closer together and a table between them to make the process easier.

 

“I thought we'd sit in here instead of the library today,” Belle explained, taking another book that she had on the table into her hands; clearly the chunkier one from before was for her own entertainment. This book was a new one, thinner and probably had larger letters and more pictures -- but LeFou could not think much about this for more than a few seconds at a time. “It makes for a change of scenery, is all."

 

As Belle continued onto the book's topic and began to explain the blurb, LeFou could not help but open his mouth.

 

“Belle…” he began, cutting the woman off.

 

“Yes?” Belle’s head had shot up, intrigued by the tone of LeFou’s voice.

 

“Before we start…” the words were coming out of LeFou’s mouth before he could really keep them in, “can I ask you something? Something that does not go out of this room?”

 

“Of course you can.” Belle said, her body language shifting to focus her attention fully onto LeFou. “What is it?”

 

“Well,” LeFou shifted his body too, “there’s… somebody that I’m close with that I feel is keeping a… secret from me… and it’s a secret _I’m_ not opposed to. I don’t -- I don’t care about this thing; it’s happening _right_ in front of my eyes. But I think they might think I do, and I…” LeFou sighed, his words tumbling out of him like cascading rivers ( _wow_ , he had been improving on his analogies since he started reading lessons with Belle); some things he had not even thought about before were suddenly all making sense the moment they came out of his mouth in Belle’s company, “well, I’m just not sure how to bring it up. I don’t want to scare him -- _them_ , damn it…” LeFou muttered, internally hitting himself.

 

“LeFou, here.” Belle set the book she was holding aside and reached out her delicate hands, taking one of LeFou’s own in between them. “Firstly, you don’t have to beat yourself up for something like that. You know this castle is free of judgement,” she smiled, squeezing LeFou’s hand. “And, second of all, you should talk to this person, whoever they may be,” she said, although LeFou suspected that, by his slip-up, she knew this was about Stanley. “I think the best way would be to reassure them; let them know you aren’t going anywhere. But --” she said quickly, “-- don’t be… overbearing. Sometimes it can be more scary than comforting when somebody is bombarding you with questions. If it works best, be subtle with them, warm up through gestures, but you must talk about it eventually.”

 

“Yeah,” LeFou nodded, looking down at Belle’s hands around one of his and then at Belle’s face. Her face was warm, kind, and LeFou still wondered, sometimes, how someone scorned so many times before only turned out to take a pure and charitable soul like Belle’s. “Thank you.”

 

“As always.” Belle said with a sincere tone and expression; soon, she moved her hands away and sat as she did before. “Shall we continue?” At LeFou’s nod, Belle picked up the smaller book she set down a while before. “Brilliant.”

 

They continued, for the next hour, to read a range of sentences and words, a lot of which LeFou still had trouble saying out loud with a furrowed brow. That’s not to say, though, that he wasn’t both improving on his comprehension and enjoying this tale; he looked forward to their next session when they would continue.

 

As LeFou left, Lumière was there to see him out.

 

“Monsieur! How did it go?” he met LeFou immediately at the doorway of the lounge.

 

“It went well.” LeFou replied, thinking not only about the tutoring but his and Belle’s conversation proceeding it all.

 

“Excellent, mon ami, excellent.”

 

“Didn’t you say you have Cogsworth to annoy?” Belle inquired jokingly, at LeFou’s side.

 

“Oui, Mademoiselle, but Cogsworth is in the worst of moods and even _I_ cannot stand to be around him for one more minute.” Lumière answered as the three made their way to the front door.

 

“Maybe he sensed that you were going to pester him again,” LeFou offered with an amused smile.

 

“Non, monsieur, I bother the man all the time; if that was the case, I would have driven him out by now.”

 

“You’ve certainly driven him up the wall too many times to count,” Belle told the white-wigged man.

 

Lumière chuckled, picking LeFou’s hat and coat off of the rack for the man. He nodded in admission. “C’est vrai,” Lumière shrugged, handing the garments to the other man and receiving a ‘thank you’ in return. “However,” Lumière lowered his voice, “I suspect it is something to do with his wife. You know, she has gotten _very_ clingy as of late --”

 

“I don’t think this is our gossip to be having,” Belle said, although her grin looked far from unimpressed.

 

LeFou pulled on his coat and placed his hat atop his head as Lumière opened the door for him.

 

“Ah, ah, fine, Mademoiselle,” Lumière relented, moving so LeFou could make his way out. As LeFou passed him, Lumière faux-whispered, “ _I will correspond the details to you via letter!_ ”

 

All three of them laughed, and LeFou turned to bid the two goodbye.

 

“Same time next week?” he asked Belle.

 

“Of course.” Belle nodded.

 

“Okay.” LeFou took Belle’s hand into his own at her will and pressed a brief kiss to the back of it in a gesture of gratitude.

 

“LeFou,” she smiled at him, “you don’t have to.”

 

“Non, Mademoiselle! Monsieur LeFou here is being a perfectly becoming gentleman! C’est why he is getting on so well with his petit ami, no?” Lumière grinned

 

“ _Lumière_.” Belle said, chuckling.

 

“My apologies _once again_ , Monsieur. Perhaps I can take a leaf or two from your book.” Lumière proposed.

 

“ _Merci_ , sir, but I’m afraid that I’m, eh, not much better.” LeFou returned, turning to leave, but not before saying, “Au revoir.”

 

Lumière’s mind had clearly surpassed LeFou’s goodbye; as LeFou walked away, he could hear the man crowing in delight, “ _Ohoho_ , Mademoiselle, did you hear that? This is better than any gossip about Cogsworth! _Monsieur, I had better hear about this in our letters too!_ ” Lumière called, continuing the joke.

 

With that, LeFou left with a smile on his face and Belle’s advice at the front of his mind for the entire horse ride back to the village.

 

*¤*.¸¸.·´¨»*«´`»*«´¨`·.¸¸.*¤*

 

After returning his horse back to its stall in his own yard and assuring that it had enough drink and food, LeFou contemplated making the trip to Stanley’s in regards to his conversation with Belle.

 

“What do you think, Jean?” LeFou murmured, smoothing the stallion’s forehead to muzzle.

 

Jean brayed quietly.

 

“What’s that?” LeFou asked. “You think I’m an idiot for trying to talk to an animal that can’t understand me? I guess.”

 

Jean snorted.

 

“Hey, don’t turn this on me.” LeFou frowned, but then he leaned against the stall's wall and sighed. “ _What’s happening to me,_ boy?”

 

Jean… was silent.

 

“You’re right. I _should_ go and talk to Stanley.” LeFou stood up straighter. “You are a _lifesaver.”_

 

LeFou didn’t get stuck with this life-long nickname for nothing, he supposed.

 

*¤*.¸¸.·´¨»*«´`»*«´¨`·.¸¸.*¤*

 

Stanley sat on the small stool that was placed before his vanity, knees bent (as the stool was fairly short) and precariously keeping his balance.

 

His brother -- Pierre -- was tending to the chicken coop outside of their home and was under the impression that Stanley was feeling under the weather, so he hadn’t come anywhere near Stanley or his room. It all served well for Stanley, though; his telling of being ill was a fabricated lie, a non-truth, all so he could do --

 

 _This_.

 

His eyelids were an azure blue, a different shade or two here and there to add to the beauty, painted with the delicacy of one of several brushes and fingers. He blinked once, twice, in love with the way the _colour_ looked and not how he looked. Well, no, that was a lie -- he _loved_  the way he looked as well, eye colour coordinating with his makeup colour, but it wasn’t excessive self-obsession.

 

How he wished he could just walk out of his house’s door and walk in amongst the villagers like this -- but there was no possibility in Hell of that happening any time soon. Nope. The fear inside of him whispered to him, sometimes _shouted_ , that no person would accept a man like the this, one who indulges in makeup the way he should also indulge in alcohol and women.

 

Maybe some magical future would let him do so, but he couldn’t see anything like that arising soon.

 

Footsteps drew closer to his room and Stanley just assumed that his brother was walking past and to the kitchen -- until the footsteps stopped just outside of his room. And then there was a tentative, almost _unsure_ , knock.

 

Stanley cleared his throat. “Pierre, I told you, I’m si--”

 

“It’s not Pierre,” came a voice. “It’s LeFou.”

 

Shock struck through Stanley as his eyes shot to his door; he’d even placed one of the chairs from the table in the next room over underneath the doorknob so the door wouldn’t open without heavy jostling. “What? LeFou? What’re -- what’re you doing here?” He reached immediately for the flannel by the small washbowl filled with he had prepared, wetting the material and going, immediately, to clean his eyes.

 

There was a long pause in which Stanley was still hurriedly trying to get the _stupid Goddamn eye makeup_ off. It wasn’t working in that rushed situation; the cheapness of this product proved itself in the way that it refused to be wiped clean quickly. He’d barely done half of one eyelid when LeFou asked: “Can we talk? I’m going to come in. I know Pierre said you were ill, but we--”

 

The doorknob started to turn but was stopped by the chair. The door jiggled a little, and the chair made a little clattering noise. With his anxiety reaching its peak, Stanley stood up, accidentally scraping his stool across the wooden floor.  “LeFou -- no, don’t --”

 

The door jiggled more, precariously. “Stanley, why can’t I open this _Goddamned_ thing? What’s -- what’s going on?”

 

“Nothing!” Stanley rushed, his voice, perhaps, a little too loud for his liking as he made a reflexive step towards the door. “I promise! The door must be jammed or something.”

 

“No…” LeFou said thoughtfully. The doorknob turned more, knocking and being stopped by the chair. “There’s something here. By the door.”

 

“Just --” Stanley began, taking a shuddering breath. “Just give me a moment. Please.”

 

The jiggling, turning, stopped; Stanley stepped back to his vanity and bent down slightly, observing his face in the mirror. One eyelid of makeup remained untouched, but the other was smeared, a blue mess, making him look nearly _ridiculous_ … only he didn’t think he was ridiculous, not really… but he was afraid LeFou would. LeFou had an accepting heart of gold and Stanley knew _logically_ that the man would not turn him away… but there was always the nagging _what-if_ s.

 

LeFou was one of the best things that had ever happened to Stanley, and Stanley didn’t want to get rid of that for _anything_ …

 

But there was no way he was going to be able to get rid of all of _this_ in a short time, and that was when Stanley realised with a racing heart and tense mind that he would have to face LeFou like this.

 

Like part of who he truly was.

 

Stanley closed his eyes. Breathed in. _One, two, three_ …

 

He stepped back towards the door, wrapping his hand around the wooden frame of the chair and dragged the piece of furniture slowly away, only so much that the door could open. The legs dragged against the floor.

 

LeFou made an attempt at opening the door again, but Stanley quickly slapped his palm against the door in something that was almost more of a _slam_.

 

“LeFou, no, wait.” Stanley said, his palm, which was originally facing more _rigidly_ on the door, relaxed slightly, curving as he felt his resolves being taken down part by part.

 

“Stanley, what is it?” LeFou asked; his voice was laced heavily with curious concern. “Are you okay?”

 

“Just --” Stanley began. “When you open this door, just… don’t be unnerved. Please.”

 

“Why would I be unnerved by you?” LeFou asked.

 

Not replying, Stanley instead elected to take a few steps away from the door and face the wall parallel to his door so that when LeFou opened it, he would not be able to see the man.

 

He could hear the door open slowly, the disjoined _click_ that the door always made when it was pushed open at a certain angle. The steps of LeFou were clear -- and creaky -- as the shorter man stepped into Stanley’s bedroom, carefully pushing the door shut behind him. Stanley squeezed his eyes shut as he heard his partner step closer to him.

 

“Stanley…” LeFou said softly. “Are you alright? Pierre did say you were ill, and you’re making me wo--”

 

Stanley turned around and LeFou’s words died on his lips almost as quickly.

 

“Oh.” Was all LeFou said.

 

‘ _Oh_ ’. What did that mean? ‘ _Oh_ , you look good’? ‘ _Oh_ , that’s… different’? ‘ _Oh_ , you’re not who I thought you were’? Mind racing, Stanley contemplated all of these points and what situations could stem from them. If he was a machine, the loud noises that his brain made could surely cause deafness.

 

His fingers flexed at his side in an almost-form of fidgeting; this was moving so fast; barely yesterday LeFou might have discovered his lipstick… and now _this_? What was LeFou to think of him?

 

What if LeFou was overwhelmed? What if he didn’t like it? What if he ran away from Stanley? What if, what if, _what if_ \--

 

“You… you look marvellous.” LeFou spoke up, shattering the somehow _loud_ silence. Stanley remained, stunned, unspeaking, as LeFou looked pensive, like he wanted to say something but he didn’t know how to verbalise it. “The blue brings out the colour in your eyes.”

 

Feeling much like a fish, Stanley’s mouth opened and closed a few times without any words escaping him; at most, there were a few half-assed syllables that both appeared and disappeared on his lips. He ended up… _smiling_ . Joy washed over him. Those few words somehow meant _so incredibly much_ to him.

 

“I was taking it off,” Stanley said quietly, almost a murmur. “If you, uh, couldn’t tell,” he continued, referencing his smeared lids.

 

LeFou’s eyebrows furrowed. “You’re -- you’re not doing that because of me, are you?” He stepped closer to Stanley and placed a hand on Stanley’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. Stanley’s breath shook nervously on the inhale and exhale. “Because… Stanley, yesterday, when we went out, I knew you wore that -- uh -- that colouring on your lips… tasted it when we kissed, actually…” LeFou smiled softly, “and I did not -- _do not_ \-- care. I want _you_ , Stanley, _all_ of you, and if that includes you wearing makeup to your heart’s desire, then _so be it_. I want you to do what you want, _be_ who you want. It would be… _beyond_ stupid of me to criticise you for who you are when we are both already disliked by a fair few for the exact same premise…” LeFou’s hand left Stanley’s shoulder and took Stanley’s hand, fingers threading between Stanley’s own. “You’re amazing with or without, Stanley. You’re still the same strong, _masculine_ man with… this,” LeFou reached up his free hand to trail his thumb lightly across Stanley’s eye makeup, “on your face as you are without. Unless… you aren’t?” LeFou paused, searching Stanley’s eyes for an answer.

 

“I am.” Stanley answered LeFou with conviction. “I’m a man. I don’t -- I have no doubts about that.”

 

“Oh. Okay,” LeFou replied, nodding. “I felt like I should check…”

 

Stanley nodded, too. The gesture, _everything_ LeFou said, warmed his heart. It all came to him, now; LeFou wasn’t going to turn his back on him. LeFou really _was_ going to stick by him, come what may. Stanley didn’t need to doubt any more; he looked down and saw it in the way LeFou’s hand strongly held his own; he looked up and saw it in LeFou’s unwavering eyes.

 

“I was taking it off as you said you were at the door.” Stanley explained to LeFou; he felt like that was the _least_ he owed his partner in this moment of intense trust. “I was afraid you’d judge me, or… turn away from me and walk out of my life.”

 

“I’d never.”

 

“I know that now,” Stanley said, “but I was just… I was scared.”

 

LeFou nodded in understanding. Their hands were still intertwined as they continued to make eye contact for a few more seconds. Out of the silence, LeFou spoke again.

 

“Could I help?” he asked hesitantly. His face looked almost vulnerable as he asked that question -- probably a mirror of how Stanley felt not even a minute ago. "Take your eye makeup off, I mean."

 

For a moment, Stanley just _stood_ there, stunted and silent. Despite LeFou’s inspiring confession, it had still felt almost too good to be true. However, he didn’t want to spend more of his time fretting over what he knew, then, to be untrue; he really _didn’t_. From that moment, he could have however much time he wanted to just… enjoy himself.

 

In a sense, he felt more free than he ever had before -- even at what might appear to be a _small_ event but really wasn’t.

 

Eventually, without words, Stanley led LeFou over to his vanity. Stanley sat himself on the tiny stool and LeFou opted to kneel down by the vanity, not at much of a height difference to Stanley because of the stool’s size, and Stanley gestured to the flannel he’d started to use and the water basin. LeFou picked up the flannel and began, with gentle fingers, to wipe at Stanley’s closed eyelid as Stanley murmured basic directions.

 

At one point, LeFou pressed a little _too_ hard and Stanley swore and hissed in pain, jerking away reflexively. He held one hand over his eye, careful not to rub any makeup into it, and looked at LeFou with his other eye.

 

LeFou looked scared, _terrified_ , even. “Stanley -- oh, God -- I’m sorry, I’m so--”

 

Stanley couldn’t help but begin to crack up, a grin spreading across his face and defeating the pain radiating from his left eye. Soon enough, LeFou joined in, and both men were laughing into the open space between them.

 

Everything was so intimate, so _quiet_ in comparison to everything else, that they forgot, for a moment, where and _who_ they were in their own small, small corner of the vast world they lived in.

 

Everything was well.

 

*¤*.¸¸.·´¨»*«´`»*«´¨`·.¸¸.*¤*

**Author's Note:**

> as always, constructive criticism is hugely welcomed!
> 
> find me on twitter: [@Igbtdisney](https://twitter.com/Igbtdisney)


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